


Pain

by GroveGrocer



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 2k words, Angst, Depression, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Post Watford, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), TW: Blood, Whump, tw: depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 21:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GroveGrocer/pseuds/GroveGrocer
Summary: It was a new development, the idea that pain could be more than physical.Pain didn’t have to manifest itself as broken bones and bleeding lips and bruised eyes. As blood pooling on concrete. An ever-present ache left over from a long gone injury.





	Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in about seven years and in a brand new fandom to me! Super excited to post, hope you enjoy!

He woke with a start. He always did.

Simon had understood since he was eleven that one day he or Baz would die and it would be directly the fault of the survivor. He had understood that his life would be full of violence and pain. He had prepared himself for it. He was ready.

It was a new development, the idea that pain could be more than physical. Pain didn’t have to manifest itself as broken bones and bleeding lips and bruised eyes. As blood pooling on concrete. An ever present ache left over from a long gone injury.

Simon had had plenty of time to contemplate this as of late. It was too much to do anything other than lay and think. But the thinking culminated at night at times like these.

Simon slowly sat up, trying to control his trembling arms but it quickly spread until he felt like every molecule in his body was vibrating at an impossible rate. His chest heaved and tears streamed down his face but he forced himself to breathe and take inventory of everything around him.

Dark room. Drawn blackout curtains. Unpacked boxes in the corner. Dresser. Lamp on his bedside. Grey sheets. Empty bed.

Empty bed?

_Empty bed._

He hadn’t fallen asleep in an empty bed.

Simon’s resolve broke as his brain began to spiral in panic. He curled his knees up to his chest as he numbly registered the smooth leather of his wings wrapping around his body as a weak protective barrier against more pain that he desperately wanted to go away and let him be just for a moment. He was hyper aware of every twitch and tremble of his own body but it had slipped past him that the heartbroken sobs that were so loud but so distant were coming out of his mouth. He pulled sharply at his own hair and tightened his knees so his pajama bottoms were pressed tightly against his bare chest. The images were spiraling through his vision and no matter how tightly he wrenched his eyes shut, he couldn’t get away from them.

The Mage’s face, not as peaceful in death as is always described. Baz, teeth sharp and eyes wild with hunger, begging him to get away. Penelope, bleeding from every pore in her body. Baz, covered in Simon’s blood and sobbing. Agatha, hair blowing behind her as she sprinted across the grounds in a panic. Baz. _Baz._

“Simon? Simon, hey. Hey, you’re alright. **Brighten up.** ”

The lights in the room turned on suddenly. _Waste of magic_ , something said in the back of Simon’s brain. He was still trembling too hard and it seemed that all his muscles had tightened to where he didn’t think he could uncurl himself even if he wanted to. He’d gone lightheaded from the sharp breaths he seemed to be taking in but not letting go.

“Simon, can you look at me?” He felt the bed dip in front of him. A cold hand on his wing that sparked a sharp contrast to his sweating, overwhelmed body. Simon’s head jerked up at the touch, his face covered in snot and tears and still crumpled in a sob that made his whole body heave.

Baz was staring at him with an expression that made Simon’s heartache. “You’re ok. You’re home. Everything is ok and everyone is safe.” Simon finally let go of all the air trapped in his lungs. Baz was here. Familiar in his long-sleeved pajamas and loosely tousled hair.

“Can I hug you?” Baz had learned to ask first. Simon had once, in the throes of panic, thrown him off the bed for attempting to.

Simon gave a small, sharp nod and felt a pair of cool arms wrap around him, too cold at first but then a welcome respite from his overheating skin. He pressed his face into the crook of Baz’s neck and felt his whole body relax at the smell of his shampoo that hadn’t changed in all these years.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Simon was still trembling violently but he forwent curling up to get closer to Baz, pressing himself against the boy not only to leech his cold but also to be soothed by the feeling of being against him, wings readjusting to wrap around both of them. “Same as always.” Getting the words out was hard and he stuttered through consonants but suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to express the visions he’d had forced on his dreams so that Baz, logical as always, would explain them away. “Everyone… bleeding. You were so, so bloody and I thought you weren’t going to wake up and Penny was hurt and I couldn’t do anything and I thought I was dead too because I was floating above it all and I couldn’t say anything but I had to know if you were alive and that fucking ball was bouncing across the floor and-” He’d interrupted himself by inhaling sharply, a sob bursting out.

“I’m ok. Bunce is too. She’s down the hall, asleep. Everyone is safe.” Baz rubbed a hand up and down Simon’s back, tightening his grip as Simon started to cry again and pressing a soft kiss into his matted curls. “You’re ok, darling.”

Fears out in the open, Simon began to slowly relax. All his muscles ached from being clenched so tightly. His brain was still spinning at a rate he couldn’t keep up with but he shut his eyes tightly and focused on the smell of Baz’s shampoo and the feeling of his hand on his back. “Where did you go?” he said in a soft voice he didn’t fully believe was his own.

“I couldn’t sleep either.” The words held a heavy weight. While Simon woke from night terrors crying out in a panic that left his pillows damp with tears, Baz’s fears were more quietly aggressive. He’d wake with a soft gasp and spend the rest of the dark hours of the night meandering around the apartment, trying to keep his ghosts at bay with caffeine, music, and novels. Simon wasn’t sure but it seemed that the boy slept for about four hours a night on average, instead filling the apartment with soft violin music that only barely penetrated through the concrete walls. Simon always told Baz to wake him when he got like that but Baz said that Simon needed as much sleep as his body would let him get. They had all been hit hard by the effects of the war and the final battle in particular and that layered over Simon and Baz’s predisposition to night terrors to make sleep nearly impossible.

Simon’s magikal therapist had told him that nightmares and depression were common in those who had been through battles but it didn’t soften the blow when he saw the look on Baz’s face when he came home to see Simon had skipped another day of classes and whiled the day away laying on the couch, blankly staring at the bare walls, unable to move. They had done some unpacking but anything non-essential had remained in boxes, victim to Penny’s busy college schedule and Simon’s inability to get out of bed.

“Do you want to try to go back to sleep?” Baz spoke softly, as if afraid to make Simon cry, and gently pulled back so he could look him in the eyes, brushing damp curls off of Simon’s forehead. Simon’s chest seized at the thought of falling back asleep and plunging back into the chapel, the forest, the orphanage, other miscellaneous horrors his brain concocted through twisting various versions of reality. This must have translated to his face because Baz quickly followed it up with, “We don’t have to. It’s about four thirty.” in the same gentle voice. He knew Baz was just trying to help but all Simon wanted was to never have to hear that ‘speaking to a startled animal’ voice ever again because it would mean Baz would never have to talk him down from a nightmare or up from a day on the couch. He was tired of being weak and having everyone take care of him. He was supposed to be the one protecting the others. Penny and Baz shouldn't be worried about him falling apart at any given moment.

Baz brushed a fresh tear off Simon’s face and kissed his forehead, taking his expression as an answer. “Let’s go watch a movie. You need a distraction. I have tea ready.” Of course he did. There would be a shortage at this rate.

“You don’t need to do this.” Simon spoke, voice raw and words cracking, keeping his eyes low.

Baz laughed, “So I’m supposed to sit in the living room and ignore my boyfriend waking up screaming for the third consecutive night?”

“Was I screaming?”

“Yes.”

Simon flushed, embarrassed, and drew his knees back up to his chest, wings relaxed against his back now. “I’m sorry.” He felt his eyes watering again and squeezed them shut tightly, laying his head on his knees so Baz wouldn’t see. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything and that you have to baby me.”

“Simon, we’ve had this conversation. We were all affected. You were the most. You can’t blame yourself that you’re scarred after everything you’ve done and seen. We’re not babying you, just helping you get through it. You’d know if we were babying you.” Baz placed a hand on Simon’s cheek and picked up his face, giving him a comforting smile he would never show in public that made Simon’s stomach twinge.

Simon was quiet, looking over Baz’s facial features, before placing a hand over Baz’s, still on his cheek, “Let’s watch that movie.”


End file.
